


After the End

by topazTemperance



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Happy Ending, M/M, Sasha James and Tim Stoker mentioned in passing, ace!Jon, cuddles and softness, fluffy to the point of cavities, gentle caring, just a bit of angst for flavor, the world was fixed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:15:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29256558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/topazTemperance/pseuds/topazTemperance
Summary: The world had ended. But now... the world was back. Martin and Jon are together; that's what matters.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 6
Kudos: 47





	After the End

**Author's Note:**

> For Chris, you kind and stellar human, you.

The world _had_ ended.

Martin couldn’t quiet describe what had happened. Jon had tried to explain the process of defeating Elias _(Jonah?)_ , dismantling the structure of the Eye, and shoving the entities back into their own dimension _("Not really another dimension, I had said the same thing when I first learned about them. What it really is…”),_ but Martin had become so lost in the technicalities of the multiverse that he decided it would be safer to make them both some tea and nod every few words. 

He had been there. He had seen the havoc and misery that the entities wrought on their newly claimed world. Jon had tried not to, but the part of him that The Eye had claimed took a perverse pleasure in it all. Martin knew that wasn’t truly Jon. Not really. So he cared for him every step of the journey to the Institute. It was the only thing he could do for his eldritch boyfriend.

The world had ended. But now… 

Now the world was back.

It had been reversed like the hands of a clock. There had been very little pomp or circumstance. Suddenly the world was normal and safe again. No one outside of the Institute seemed to have a clue that it had ever happened at all. 

For Martin, time seemed to blur together after that. No doubt the entities would eventually try again, so everyone at the Institute remained in their jobs, gathering information and knowledge on the horrors that lurked just outside their world. Jon remained Head Archivist; somewhat begrudgingly at first. Someone new was brought on as head of the Institute. What was her name? Lucretia Callaghan, that’s right. She was a vast improvement to her predecessor in Martin’s opinion. Her eyes were quite kind.

Jon had moved into Martin’s tiny, albeit cozy flat just a few weeks after the world reversed. The space was more cramped than it had ever been, but Martin was perfectly giddy at the daily elbow bumping and close proximity they now shared. He took every opportunity he could to kiss the top of Jon’s head as he passed by, or to brush his fingers ever so lightly over Jon’s wrist when they sat on the couch together, reading. 

Days were lovely. The sun streamed in through the front windows and cast long shadows at sunset.

Nights were difficult. They both still suffered terrible nightmares that left them sweating and shaking. 

Jon was worse off of the two of them. Though he no longer slept with his eyes open, he slept lightly, fitfully. All Martin could do to comfort him was take Jon’s thin body in his arms and hold on until the shaking stopped. Martin would drag his fingers through Jon’s long hair. Jon would intone something that almost sounded like a statement for a moment before calming. Martin peppered kisses on Jon’s dark skin, whispered reassurance in his ear, nuzzled his cheek with his own. 

“Jon, you’re alright. It’s over now. You’re safe.” More gentle kisses. More whispered promises. “Jon, my love, I’m here.” 

Gradually, the nights became a bit easier. The nightmares eased until they were no longer nightly, but once or twice a week. Martin couldn’t hide the relief as Jon’s eyes grew brighter and he smiled more and more. Several months passed in a routine of comfort. Martin was almost glad for the painful normalcy of it all.

The world had ended; it felt so long ago now.

Martin woke from a dreamless sleep slowly. Waking thought gently tugged at his consciousness until he reluctantly opened his eyes. Bright sunlight caught on dust floating through the air. They had forgotten to pull the blackout curtains across the window last night. Martin turned over and looked at the clock on his bedside table. Saturday. Almost ten thirty. No wonder he felt so well rested. 

With a sigh, Martin rolled back over. Jon was still asleep, bunched up under the covers. He tended to steal most of the blankets during the night, and last night had been no exception. Martin reached down and pulled a second quilt up over himself. No need to wake Jon just to take back a bit of blanket.

The bed squeaked as Martin shimmied his way closer to Jon. Thankfully, he didn’t wake. His black hair, streaked with grey, was coming out of its hair tie. With a soft touch, Martin moved several of the messy strands out of Jon’s face. His let his fingers linger as he gently caressed Jon’s temple. A small smile crept across Martin’s face the longer he stared at Jon’s sleeping form. Martin sat up slightly on his elbow and leaned over. He placed a small smattering of kisses on his forehead, brows, and temple.

_What a wonderful word for it,_ Martin thought as he touched his own forehead to Jon’s temple. A part of the body named for a place of worship. He would gladly spend all his time at this temple, adoring and devoting to the man whom he loved so completely. 

He sat back as Jon started to stretch. Slowly, his eyes opened. They had been changed to a bright emerald green when the apocalypse had started. Thankfully, they had changed back with the world: a brown so deep they were almost black. Martin was sure that if he stared into them for a long enough time, he would get lost in the rich umber. 

Jon smiled and stretched again. “G’mornin’ darling…” He murmured, voice thick with sleep. 

Martin was sure his heart was going to explode. He returned the smile. “Hello, love.” The gap between them closed as they both leaned in for a kiss. The soft light danced behind Martin’s closed eyes and he smiled into the kiss. There had been a time in his life (not counting the apocalypse) when he was sure that he would be alone for all of his days. The flat had felt too large; it had been filled with an aching quiet and the kind of thoughts that brought him close to tears. 

But now…

Now, there was a presence close to him at nearly every moment of every day. Jon… _His_ Jon… was here. Jon had moved in and filled the flat with bookshelves stuffed to bursting. There were plates left in odd places. His desk was constantly immaculate: a stark difference from his desk at the Institute. Jon was _here._ He sat in the squashy armchair by the window. He put his feet on the coffee table when he was reading. He brushed his teeth and forgot to wipe the spilled toothpaste from the sink. 

The wonderful thing of it all was that he was simply living. And Martin was here to share that space with him. To live with him.

Martin let out a shaky sigh and rubbed his face. His eyes burned. Jon sat up and gave Martin a confused glance. “Feeling alright this morning?”

“Honestly?” Martin uncovered his face. His eyes swam as he looked up at Jon, threatening to spill over. Martin laughed softly. “Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever felt better.”

Jon’s cheeks colored ever so slightly. He leaned down to place another kiss on Martin’s nose. “I quite agree.” He smiled, then slunk his way out from under the covers to head to the bathroom. 

Martin lay in the quiet morning air for only a moment before stretching. This happiness could be celebrated with only one thing: blueberry pancakes. With his mission now clear, Martin got up, put on his slippers, his baggiest sweatpants, and a threadbare sweater and walked out to the kitchen. He was half-way through pouring the batter onto the skillet when Jon reappeared from the bathroom. His hair had been brushed into a half bun; his slight curls hung past his collarbones. Jon had wrapped himself on one of Martin’s flannel shirts. It was much too large for him. 

“Can I help?” Jon asked as he crossed the small kitchen to wrap his arms around Martin.

“Sure. I need to add the blueberries.” He handed the spatula over. “Can you flip them when I’m done?”

Martin arranged the little blueberries into various shapes: a heart, a cat face, an M, and a J were among them. When he was through, he gave Jon a peck on the cheek and went to wash out the blueberry container. They could reuse it. Today was shopping day anyhow. He absentmindedly scanned the fridge when he opened it for the syrup. They needed milk, carrots, blueberries, probably some butter as well, and also some—

“Damn it…”

Martin looked up over the fridge door. “Everything alright over there?” Jon was fighting with the spatula, attempting to flip the pancakes. Well… as far as Martin could see, attempting was a very generous description. What had been several near perfect circles were now rather ridiculous looking lumps dotted with blueberries. 

“Jon, do you…” Martin tried very hard to suppress a laugh. “Do you want me to do it?”

Jon glowered at the skillet. “Absolutely not. They’re perfect. Why would I need any help?”

He had to cover his mouth to keep from giggling as he stood up and closed the fridge. He placed the syrup bottle on the kitchen table. “Sure, love,” Martin smiled as he turned on the kettle and got their mugs down from the cabinet. “You want your usual?” 

“Mmm,” Jon responded vaguely as he mangled yet another pancake. 

Martin shook his head. Milk and three spoonfuls of sugar for Jon, just milk for himself. By the time the tea was done, Jon had finished his own… work. Martin placed their mugs at their respective chairs and sat down. With a vague look of pride, Jon brought their plates over and sat down. The pancakes were now small mountains of purplish fried dough.

Martin bit his tongue and chose to say nothing but smile. They were delicious.

The morning passed gently into afternoon. Martin had offered to go do the shopping with the promise of picking up the ingredients for eggplant parmesan. Jon promised to clean up the living room and kitchen. 

Martin had been the only one to keep his promise. 

When he returned, shopping bags in tow, he found Jon sitting on the floor with a ring of books around him, a box to his right. There was a moment where panic settled into Martin’s chest when he saw how still and solemn Jon was sitting. Martin was suddenly back in the safehouse. The statements strewn across the floor. The tears running down Jon’s face as his eyes shifted between electric green and brown. 

The world had ended. The world had turned dark.

Martin gingerly placed the bags down, not taking his eyes off of Jon. 

“Jon…” He said quietly. “Jon, what…”

Jon looked up and smiled. Martin felt his legs sway. Relief washed over him as he dropped to his knees in front of the books, trying to slow his heart. 

“What’s wrong, dear?” Jon’s brows knitted together. The smile dropped from his face and he shut the book in his hands. “Martin?”

“No, it’s nothing… I-I just thought—” He took a breath. “I just remembered when I came back to the safehouse. And I thought… I thought something had happened…” He gestured vaguely at the ring of books. 

Jon paled. “O-Oh! No, I— I’m sorry!”

“No, no, don’t be! It’s alright!” Martin offered a shaky smile and looked down at the books. “What even are these?” He reached down and opened one. His smile faltered. 

They were photo albums. Each and every one packed to bursting with Polaroids. There were photos from every office party, snapshots of mundane moments in research and the archive, pictures of nights out at the pub, and everything in between. Jon himself featured in very few of them. Sometimes he held the camera at arms’ length so that the top of his head was in the shot, but it was mostly photos of Martin, Tim, and— and…

The smiling woman in the photos looked kind beyond measure. Her tightly curled hair was styled into braids. Her fashion sense was impeccable. There were swirling tattoos on her upper arms. She had a septum piercing in the photos at the pub.

“Sasha?” Martin’s voice quavered as he said it.

Jon nodded wordlessly.

Martin picked up one of the books. His eye caught on one of him and Tim in the break room, just laughing with each other.

“Oh, Tim…” He murmured.

He turned the page: Jon and Tim sitting in next to a fountain while Sasha threw crusts to gathered birds. He had taken that one. Another: Martin and Sasha making paper airplanes in the Archives. Tim and Sasha dancing. Tim holding the camera and pinning Jon, rolling his eyes, to his side. Countless photos that he didn’t even remember.

He turned the page and inhaled sharply.

He pulled one of the photos from the page. It was one that featured all four of them. The handwritten note on the bottom of it said “December 2015.” Sasha had her arms draped over Martin’s and Jon’s shoulders while Tim crouched in front of them, both hands making the V for peace. They were all bundled up in coats and scarves, standing in front of a large, colorfully lit Christmas tree. Their cheeks were pink from the cold. Their smiles were brighter than the holiday lights.

Martin felt tears roll down his face. 

“I hadn’t… I… She was so lovely. Look at Tim’s smile.” He held the photograph to his chest. 

Jon reached over and placed a hand on Martin’s knee. “We’ll frame it,” he said quietly. Tears shone in his eyes. 

The evening light sparkled through the vase of flowers on the coffee table. Martin sat on the couch, looking at the framed photo from December 2015. It sat next to the vase, the perfect place. He felt his eyes prickle as he reached over and picked up the frame. His eyes roved over Tim and Sasha’s smiling faces, drinking in every feature and facet. 

Jon pushed a cup of tea into Martin’s hand. “I know,” he said. “I had started to clean and then found the first album. I couldn’t stop looking through them. I didn’t realize you had walked in until you had said something.” He gently took the photo from Martin’s hand. He smiled, but sadness melted into it. “I… Maybe if I stared for long enough, I could memorize every detail. That way I wouldn’t forget again.”

Martin took a long drink of his tea. “You took so many photos. I barely remember some of those.”

Jon smiled. “A teenage hobby that I never stopped.” He shrugged. “I stopped taking too many after Prentiss. I was just… Well. I was too far down the rabbit hole.”

“You were beyond paranoid,” Martin laughed. “But you had every reason to be.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Jon placed the photo on the table. There was a bittersweet expression playing its way over his face. “We turned the world back. It’s been six months. For all the good we did, we couldn’t bring them back with us.”

Martin took Jon’s hand in his own. “We have the photos. We have our memories. Even if…” He took a deep breath. “Even if we could bring them back, it wouldn’t be them. Not really. There isn’t a way to bring them back that it would be exactly the way we remember them.”

“I know.” Jon sighed. 

The sun continued to set. The quiet was only broken by the ticking of the mantle clock.

Martin drained the rest of his cup and stood. “Let’s go to bed.”

Jon furrowed his brows. “It’s not even nine,” he said. 

“True. But we don’t have to sleep. You look like you need a good cuddle.” Martin smiled and picked a book from the shelf. “C’mon, love.”

“Alright,” Jon’s smile was grateful. 

They settled into bed, buried under large blankets. Martin sat up against his pillows with one arm around Jon, who had curled himself tightly around Martin. They both held their own books, reading quietly. The words were going right through Martin, though. He was too focused on the smell of Jon’s hair: mint and teatree. He rested his lips in the top of Jon’s head, placing small kisses every few seconds. 

“I love you, Jon.” He murmured the words like a prayer, like a promise.

Jon put his book down and looked up. His smile was radiant. “I love you, too, Martin.”

The minutes clicked by easily. Martin looked down for long enough to see that Jon’s book had drooped down to rest on his lap. At some point, Jon had fallen asleep. His even breathing was a balm, coaxing Martin towards his own sleep. He took Jon’s book and marked the page, placed his own marker, and put both books on the bedside table. With as much care as he could muster, Martin reached out and turned off the lights. Thankfully, Jon did not stir. Martin took a deep breath and kissed the top of Jon’s head again. He could sleep sitting up tonight. He wouldn’t dream of disturbing how cozy Jon was. 

A traffic light changed and bathed the room in soft green light. The low hum of chatter floated up from the street below. In his sleep, Jon sighed and held Martin closer. 

The world had ended. Then it didn’t.

And Martin was ever so glad of that.

**Author's Note:**

> First TMA fic, hurray! I'm hoping to do more of these eventually. Thanks for reading. xo


End file.
